Walkout
by HecateA
Summary: When the Auror Department rolls out a new protocol for dealing with werewolves, it's nearly more than Tonks can tolerate. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: **Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

**Warnings: **Discrimination, canon-compliant police brutality allegory with the Aurors

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**Stacked with: **MC4A; Shipping War; Animal Verses; Remains of War; Ornate Oscillating Obelisks

**Individual Challenge(s): **Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Golden Times; Old Shoes; Trope It Up C (Secret Relationship); Themes and Things A (Reflection); Themes and Things B (Prejudice); Ethnic and Present (Y); True Colours; Rian-Russo Inversion (Y); In a Flash

**Representation(s): **Creature Feature; Second Verse (Tomorrow's Shade); Chorus (Middle Name)

**Bonus challenge(s):** Creature Feature; Second Verse (Odd Feathers); Chorus (Middle Name)

**Tertiary bonus challenge: **Oust; Orator

**Word Count: **1743

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_**Shipping Wars**_

**Ship (Team): **Nymphadora Tonks/Remus Lupin (Technicolour Moon)

**List (Prompt): **Summer Medium 1 (Convention/seminar)

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**Walkout**

Ongoing training sessions always drew strange moods in the Auror Department. On the one hand, it was one of the rare occasions when the entire team was in one place at the same time. On the other, it usually meant that some of them got days off cut short or spent an absurd amount of time in the office as their shifts lengthened. To add insult to what could often be injury, the information that these additional seminars shared were always more-or-less useful.

But whatever. Tonks had snatched a seat next to Kingsley in the back (Shacklebolt having been very clear that she and Hestia were not to sit next to one another during one of these shingdings ever again). He was updating her on the life and times of the Muggle prime minister who appeared to be in constant feud with their gardener, when Scrimgeourt meandered over to the front of the room and cleared his throat. The hush settled over the crowd immediately.

"Thank you," Scrimgeour said, eyeing his notes for tonight's session. "Alright, roll call and some housekeeping before we start…"

Tonks half-heartedly listened as he went through the usual reminders on when to wear dress robes, how to properly fill in workplace accident forms, et cetera, et cetera. She was at the tail-end of a 32 hour shift during which she hadn't managed to squeeze in her usual power nap, and she was already exhausted at the prospect of making the dessert she'd promised her grandmother to make for Shabbat tomorrow...

She had just found a comfortable way of slouching in her chair when Scrimgeour, with a flick of his wand, turned on the ancient, old-fashioned projector he'd brought in—it looked even older than any of the artifacts her Hogwarts professors had used. Another wave of his wand dimmed the lights. The image projected on the screen in front of the assembled Aurors was a man Tonks recognized easily. Most wizards would, she reckoned: Fenrir Greyback.

"Now," Scrimgeour said. "A resurgence of lycanthropic activity in light of You-Know-Who's return has already been noted by both our people and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. As a result, we've developed a new Werewolf Response Protocol, effective immediately."

She arched an eyebrow and turned to Kingsley, who was still staring straight ahead at Scrimgeour.

"There are 171 registered werewolves in the territory we cover," Scrimgeour said. "There may be up to 250 cases of active lycanthropy, according to the Beast division's estimates of how many werewolves remain illegally unregistered. Of those 171 cases alone, we can trace the lineage of 59 individuals to bites from Fenrir Greyback or his pack members."

Scrimgeour flicked to the next slide in his presentation, which was covered in a long line of tiny, meticulous names. They were alphabetically listed, and Tonks couldn't help but find _Remus John Lupin _in that very long list.

"You will not be asked to memorize these names, but keep in mind that experts claim that Greyback's pack may be larger yet—though this is impossible to confirm due to noncompliance with the 1979 Lycanthrope Registration Act, and individuals registering without clearly knowing the identity of the individual who bit them."

Tonks frowned again and raised her hand.

Kingsley looked at her warningly, but Scrimgeour had already nudged his head in her direction, giving her the right to speak.

"Yeah," she said. "Quick question… How is "pack" defined in this context?"

"A pack is a group of werewolves," Scrimgeour said.

"Right," Tonks said. "My question is though—what is the relationship that these 59 people have to one another?"

"They were all bitten by Greyback," a particularly daft twit called Olafson that she couldn't wait to wave off into retirement chimed in.

"Yeah, got that," Tonks said. "But how are we saying they're alike or different? How do they relate to one another?"

"That information is irrelevant to the purpose of this presentation," Scrimgeour said. "Due to Greyback's recent and historical alignment with You-Know-Who, these individuals have all been classified as high-risk and will be most frequently targeted during the regiment of regular check-ins with registered werewolves that we will be going over today. Starting from next week when the Wizenmagot rules on this regiment, all werewolves will be required to carry Ministry-issued identification which will include their Creator and Alpha's name, which you will want to remember to check to assess individuals. What, Tonks?"

"What's an Alpha?" she asked.

"It's a fucking pack leader," Milford (whom Mad-Eye had never liked) snapped.

"I know that's what it is for wolves, I'm not an idiot, but are we really supposed to transplant ideas about animals onto people?" she snapped back with just as much bite, which was how she had learned to shut him down.

"Order," Scrimgeour said. "Tonks, this is coming from the Magical Creatures people."

"I get that," Tonks said. "But if I'm going to be asked to implement this, I want to know exactly what we're claiming and where the hell this information is coming from."

"From Magical Creatures—"

"Yes, right," Tonks said. "But is this actually how werewolves act and behave?" She knew it wasn't, but she felt eyes on her now. "Has anybody asked them? This seems simplistic, and if it's overly simplistic it's bound to be wrong. 59 people can't all behave exactly like Greyback. _He's _a monster, but we don't have evidence for all these other people. There'd be much more violence reported to us if they were, and assuming things like that is a waste of department time and resources—not to mention unfair to the werewolves who aren't radicalized, who aren't—"

"Chief, we should send Tonks out to the werewolves next time we're called in," Olafson said. "Seems she's inclined to take the time and ask if they're in the mood to bite her."

"Maybe I'm just not assuming they want to," Tonks snapped back. "Also while I'm talking, what do you mean by 'when the Wizenmagot rules on this regiment?' If they have yet to rule on it, why are we designing, promoting, and enacting a protocol based on something that may or may not exist?"

"The legislature will pass swiftly," Scrimgeour said.

"We're assuming?" Tonks asked. "What if it doesn't? What if they discuss it, or what if a werewolf comes to testify and shuts it down, or—"

"What do you want me to tell you?" Scrimgeour asked. "This is coming from Magical Creatures."

"I want you to tell me that our department's adopting a well-thought out strategy grounded in fact, not fear, that will be respectful and just to all wizards—including those with lycanthropy."

It was quiet. Tonks knew she'd said too much, put her foot in her mouth, but she was too deep into it now to do anything other than stare back at Scrimgeour.

"Auror Tonks," he said warningly—the use of her title now was far from a show of respect. "This line of questioning is a distraction from the issue at hand."

"With all due respect sir, I disagree," she said.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Kingsley staring at her with wide eyes. She knew what he was thinking: _don't make trouble, don't make a scene, don't jeopardise Scrimgeour's trust, don't appear dissident, don't give them a reason to think you're anything other than the perfect Auror…_

"We've wasted enough time on this. You can either keep your disagreement to yourself, or you can walk out now and I will deal with you privately in my office later."

Tonks stared at Scrimgeour some more. He didn't look away. She didn't look away.

And so she picked up her bag and walked out.

Scrimgeour's secretary, a woman with a shock of blonde hair named Celeste Diggory, let him into his office. She sat in front of his desk knowing that there would be hell to pay and waited for the devil himself for about an hour before he appeared. He shut the door behind her and took his sweet time pouring himself a drink before taking his seat in front of her.

"Auror Tonks," he said.

"I'll take the formal warning and go," she said quietly.

"No; you will do more than that," Scrimgeour said, leaning on his desk. "You will acknowledge that your behaviour was unacceptable. You will apologize. You will take the paper copy of the report on Maleficent Lycanthropic Activity Resurgence issued by the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures home with you tonight, and hand in a 10-page written summary when you report back for your next shift. You will recognize that in the face of You-Know-Who's return, the Auror Department must be sharper and more cohesive than ever before, and that dissidence and disrespect will not be tolerated amongst our ranks. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," she said, though the words left a foul taste in her mouth. He _was _clear. She just didn't like it.

Scrimgeour reached behind him and took a thick roll of parchment off his shelf and handed it to her. She tucked it in her bag, which felt significantly heavier on her way out.

Remus stirred when she crept into their bedroom.

"Hey," he said, moving to sit up.

"Don't get up," she said, slipping out of her jeans and unhooking her bra, pulling it out of one of her sleeves.

He obeyed, but still threw open the sheets for her invitingly. She crawled into bed and rested her head on his stomach, looping her arms around his waist, holding on tight. His hand went to her hair, stroking softly.

"Hey," he said. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she said. She buried her face against him and breathed in. None of the tension in her shoulders let out.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said. She hadn't seen him in over 32 hours; now was not the time to hash this out. He would worry, if he thought she was doing something dangerous for the career she'd worked so hard to build. Guilty too, maybe, knowing him. "Just… be careful around Aurors, okay?"

"You know I always am," he said quietly.

"I know," she said. "Just… be extra careful, okay? And we… We have to talk in the morning. For now, I just… I just want to be with you."

"Okay," he said. "But we'll talk in the morning?"

"We'll talk," she promised. And she was ashamed of what she'd have to say.


End file.
